Mafioso [Part 1]

by Nisa Santiago

  Meyer went into his office and closed the door. Luna kept him company. Luna was his protection and his close friend.

  Meyer put the Grey Goose bottle to his lips and took a large swig. He then collapsed in his chair and leaned back. He looked at Luna and said, “My father is gonna try and keep me away. Like I’m not good enough to help him find who killed Gotti. He had a meeting at the cemetery and kept me out the loop. What the fuck is that about?”

  “Your pops just got a lot on his plate,” Luna said.

  “First he sends us to Delaware to handle business, and me and Bugsy been doing that. Now he’s holding court without us. I’m his son, and he’s treating me like an outcast.” Meyer took another hefty swig of Goose.

  “We need to just chill.”

  “Nigga, you and me don’t just chill. We’re killers. We done proved numerous times that we can handle our own, do for this organization, and take care of business. Pops actin’ like we some off-brand niggas.” He took another gulp.

  “So, what you got planned?” Luna asked.

  “I don’t know yet, but I need to show my father something—show him how important I am to his organization. There’s a lot of shade being thrown my way.”

  “Whatever it is, you know I got your back.”

  “You my nigga, Luna. For real.”

  Meyer almost finished the bottle. He looked at the security monitors and saw his club running smoothly. Business was good. The girls were naked and lively, and the men were drinking and having fun.

  Meyer noticed Lollipop was missing from the scene. At a time like this, he needed to see her. Drinking had him hot and bothered. He looked for Lollipop on the monitors, but she wasn’t there. “Where’s Lollipop?”

  “Don’t know.”

  Meyer finished the bottle and tossed it. Now he was full of liquor and looking sour and moody. He continued to stare at the security monitors.

  He saw Lollipop finally arrive at the club, and she wasn’t alone. She’d come with Sergeant McAuliffe. He immediately jumped up from his chair, grabbed his pistol, and stormed out of his office.

  Luna saw his rage and followed him out the room.

  Meyer’s eyes were bleeding red with conflict as he marched toward them, the gun gripped tightly by his side. The disrespect. He’d told her to stay away from the cop. The crowd between Meyer and the cop parted. Everyone knew not to get in his way. Meanwhile, Sergeant McAuliffe had his back turned to the threat.

  When Lollipop saw Meyer coming, her eyes widened with shock and fear. She didn’t think he would show up there.

  “Hey, cop!” Meyer shouted at McAuliffe.

  McAuliffe turned around, only to be struck in the face with the butt of the gun. Meyer hit him again, and the overweight cop went down. Five or six times the gun smashed into his face, spewing blood and crippling the officer.

  Lollipop shrieked in fear.

  “You fuck wit’ me! You fuck wit’ me, huh?” Meyer shouted. Suddenly, he glared at Lollipop, who stood frozen in fear. He trained the gun at her head. “I told you, bitch, stay away from this nigga!”

  Luna was the only one crazy enough to stop Meyer. “Not here. Now is not the time.” He stepped in and held Meyer back from killing them both. There were too many witnesses around. It would have been a stupid move, and McAuliffe was still a cop. “We need to leave.”

  Meyer was breathing hard, and feeling tense. Killing McAuliffe would have been a major release of stress. He gazed down at the cop, his face bloody and a few things looking broken. Meyer had done a number on him. McAuliffe couldn’t even pick himself up off the floor. Scowling, Meyer thundered, “It’s a new fuckin’ day!” and he and Luna soon left.

  Outside, Luna took out his cell phone and made a call. When Whistler answered, he quickly said, “Yeah, it’s me, and we got a problem.”

  ***

  Standing beside the floor-to-ceiling windows in his Manhattan apartment, Whistler smoked his cigar and gazed at the lights dancing and sparkling in the night. Every night, the city was bustling with activity. New York wouldn’t be New York if it didn’t move like a well-oiled machine.

  The earlier call from Luna was a disturbing one. Meyer had gone too far with Sergeant McAuliffe because he couldn’t control his temper over some pussy. Whistler shook his head, taking a puff from the cigar. He knew Scott would be furious when he heard the news.

  The soft knocking at Whistler’s door made him change his focus. He had an idea who it was so late in the hour. Always cautious, he peered through the peephole and saw Lucky standing in the hallway. It hadn’t been a full twenty-four hours since they’d laid Gotti to rest.

  He opened the door, and she wrapped her arms around him desperately. “I don’t wanna be alone tonight. I just want to be loved and held by you.”

  “You’re alone, right?” he asked.

  “Of course, I’m alone. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  Whistler glanced left and right into the hallway, making sure there was no unexpected company. Scott could have had goons following his daughter for her protection without her knowing it.

  As soon as Whistler closed his door, Lucky continued to come at him sexually. The two kissed passionately, their bodies entwined.

  Lucky looked enticing in a beaded trim minidress with a plunging neckline that highlighted her ample cleavage. Her young eighteen-year-old flesh was breathtaking. She reached for his zipper and slid her hand inside, grabbing a handful of dick. Whistler lifted her dress to her hips, only to find out she wasn’t wearing any panties. They kissed and fondled each other while their bodies heated up with the urges of sexual gratification.

  Lucky pulled away from him, breaking their sexual momentum. “I need to take a shower. It’s been a long day.” She peeled off her dress, dropped it on the floor, and kicked off her shoes. She walked to the bathroom.

  Lucky nakedness was eye candy for an older man like Whistler. A stab of guilt hit him. There he was, putting his dick in his friend’s little princess while his son was fresh in the tomb.

  Whistler heard the shower turn on and sighed heavily. With problems surfacing for the organization, sex should have been the last thing on his mind. Especially with Lucky. But he was a gangster with needs. He pivoted toward the bathroom and started to undress.

  Beneath the cascading warm water, Lucky straddled Whistler and rode his hardness. Sex with the eighteen-year-old wasn’t right, but it felt good.

  She came, and her entire body felt like it was about to burst with pleasure. Every inch of her felt sensitive. He grew harder inside her as she pulsated. It didn’t take long for Whistler to release inside of her.

  ***

  Meyer rode silently in the back seat of the black Yukon traveling east on the Long Island Expressway. The scenery went by speedily, with traffic being light. It was dusk. The sun was steadily falling behind the horizon and painting the sky different shades. The truck was so quiet, the men could hear a fly fart.

  Luna sat by his friend’s side. Both were armed and worried. The two men in the front seat were Scott’s henchmen, simply doing a job they were told to do.

  Meyer knew he’d fucked up with Sergeant McAuliffe. The liquor and emotions had gotten the best of him. He heard the cop had suffered a broken eye socket, a broken cheekbone, and a bruised face. Not to mention a bruised ego. Now Meyer was worried about the consequences from Scott.

  The driver navigated his way into an affluent area called East Hills with lovely homes and quiet streets. The Yukon approached a park near a lake nestled in the neighborhood and stopped. Meyer and Luna got out.

  Scott was standing alone near a park bench, smoking a cigar and looking pensive. Solitude sometimes was his strength. Meyer approached his father alone, while Luna stood back.

  Scott, looking nonchalant, fixed his eyes on his son. Meyer knew when his father looked too cool, it was a serious problem.

/>   The moment Meyer was close, Scott clenched his fist and swung at him, his knuckles crashing into the side of Meyer’s face. The punch sent Meyer stumbling.

  “You’re a fuckin’ imbecile!” Scott yelled, his face flaring up with rage.

  “Can I explain?” Meyer blurted.

  “Shut the fuck up! If it weren’t for Bugsy being your twin, I wouldn’t even think you were my damn son. You know what it’s gonna take to fix this shit? Do you?”

  Meyer had no answer. He frowned, locking eyes with his angry father, still feeling the effect of the punch.

  “Lucky for you, Whistler took care of things. It cost us money and favors,” Scott said. “I should have them lock you up for your foolishness. But I already have one son dead. I don’t need another in jail. But you owe the organization everything, starting with a hundred thousand dollars. And you’re demoted. You no longer run the club or move any of the organization’s products. You are a man in purgatory, and if you keep fuckin’ up, then you’ll be a man without a country.”

  Meyer could only listen. He didn’t expect so many repercussions. Losing the club and being fined a hundred thousand dollars was painful enough, but to be demoted was humiliating.

  “Pop—”

  “Shut up, and don’t speak! You’ve lost your speaking privileges with me.”

  Scott was one of the few people that Meyer couldn’t bully or intimidate. His father was the apex predator at the top of the food chain.

  “And that bitch that has you possessed, she’s fired from the club. No person should act that crazy over pussy unless he’s married to it. Now get the fuck out of my face! I have nothing else to say to you,” Scott growled.

  Meyer turned and marched away, feeling defeated by his father’s words. He felt he was his own man, but Scott wanted to make him feel like a little boy.

  Scott remained in the park, smoking his cigar. If Meyer wasn’t his son, then he would be expendable.

  24

  Max stood watch at the foot of the prison cell and could hear the correction officer’s grunts and moans. Behind her, one of her girls was getting fucked doggy-style in the cell by Officer Fleming, a tall country redneck. Fleming couldn’t get enough of Pumpkin, a short, dark-skinned inmate with a juicy booty, who was doing ten years for armed robbery and assault. Pumpkin was bent over with her pants down, legs spread, and clutching the metal sink fastened to the brick wall.

  Officer Fleming happily thrust his small penis in and out of her, and soon felt his orgasm brewing. For Pumpkin, it was another fuck, another dollar. She was addicted to heroin, and she needed it daily to move on with her day.

  The top tier was quiet. Max stood stern faced, her head swiveling left and right, watching out for any unexpected company—guard or inmate. She wanted Fleming to finish. He was always quick—five minutes or less.

  “I’m gonna come!” he announced.

  Pumpkin stayed quiet, as always. And soon it was over. He released, and she got paid. For the sexual rendezvous, she earned fifty dollars.

  Officer Fleming exited the cell tucking in his shirt, but a part of it was still un-tucked. He looked sexually gratified. He walked away like nothing happened. It was back to work.

  Max went into the cell where Pumpkin was cleaning up between her legs. She looked unbothered by the encounter.

  Pumpkin held up the used condom with her index finger and her thumb. The latex condom was weighed down with semen. “That muthafucka let off a huge load this time. Look at this shit, Max. It seems like he wanted to put a baby in me.”

  “Well, that can’t happen,” Max said. “Flush it.”

  Pumpkin dropped it into the toilet and flushed it away. She then got herself decent.

  Max covertly passed Pumpkin the small parcel filled with heroin at a cheaper cost. Correction Officer Mark had successfully smuggled in another batch of contraband, and Max was making her rounds around the prison.

  Pumpkin smiled. The parcel in her possession was like gold to her. She was ready to snort it. It was the only way for her to get high. Having a syringe inside the prison was just too risky.

  “Be careful with that,” Max told her, before walking away to deal with other business.

  In the dayroom, Shiniquia was on the telephone. The moment she saw Max, she smiled and curtailed the phone call. She took a seat next to Max and said, “It’s done. My brother did his thing, and that little muthafucka went down with a hard bang, just how you wanted it.”

  Max was pleased to hear the news.

  “He’s ready for more. The money’s good,” Shiniquia said.

  Max nodded. “I’ll make the call to the bitch and set up another payment arrangement.”

  “Cool. How stupid this bitch is! She paid for the hit on her own son. Damn, you really are a cold-hearted muthafucka, and you really hate this bitch. Max, you is on some wicked shit, fo’ real. I know that bitch owes you, but remind me to never get on your bad side.”

  Max simply smiled. Vengeance was hers, and it would continue to be hers until every last member of the West family was dead.

  ***

  Layla lazed and sipped on white wine in the large tub in her Manhattan suite. It was a balmy night with clear skies, but her forecast was a heavy heart. She wasn’t in any rush to go back to Florida. Their estate in Key West would become a bad memory for her. It was still hard to believe that Gotti was dead. She wished she’d paid him more attention that day.

  All of her projects had been put on hold. Taking care of business with a grieving heart was hard. She sighed heavily and soaked in the tub, trying to find some escape from her pain. Every day there was tears for Gotti. And every day there was regret and nostalgia.

  The police believed the hit-and-run was an accident, and the driver of the car most likely got scared and took off. The area where Gotti was killed was isolated, and there weren’t any witnesses to give the license plate number of the car or describe the driver. Gotti’s friends weren’t much help. They saw nothing.

  Layla felt that someone had to pay. There was no way someone would get away with killing her son. The pain was much greater with that person still walking around free and still breathing. Even if she had to hit the streets herself and play detective, someone had to be held accountable for Gotti’s death. She had enough money to extract information from whomever, and she’d put the word out—a quarter of a million dollars for any information connected to her boy’s death.

  The suite was dim and so quiet, Layla could hear her thoughts. Soon she heard movement in the other room. Cautiously, she removed herself from the tub, toweled off swiftly, and put on a long robe. She then reached for the .38 on the bathroom sink. The family was known for keeping guns around at close range. It was a habit.

  She exited the bathroom and stepped into the adjacent room with the loaded gun. She stepped into the huge furnished living room, ready for anything. To her surprise, it was Scott. He stood by the minibar pouring himself a drink. He looked her way, and there was no friendly acknowledgment. It almost looked like he carried some disdain toward his wife and mother of his kids.

  Scott downed the vodka. He looked at his wife and said, “I’m flying to Florida tomorrow. I need to handle some business.”

  “Are you looking for the muthafucka that killed our son?”

  “What you think I’m going to Florida for? To catch a tan? I got my peoples already on it.” He poured himself another shot of vodka and tossed it back.

  “You find him, baby, and you take care of that muthafucka. You make them pay fo’ what they did to our family.”

  Scott poured another drink and threw it back.

  “Are you staying the night?” she asked him.

  “I have someplace else to be.”

  “Like where?”

  “Don’t question me. I got too much going on right now for you to start acting this way. Now is not t
he time, Layla.”

  “When will it be the time, Scott?” She looked at him with eagerness and then sadness. It’d been nearly two months since they’d had sex. And tonight, she needed him around. She wanted to be held and talked to. She wanted to be loved and fucked. She didn’t want to be alone.

  “When was the last time you took me into your arms and held me, Scott? When was the last time you fucked me? I’m aching and grieving here, and you ignore me. I’m still your wife, and I still love you. I just want us to be together.”

  Scott paused for a moment before pouring yet another shot.

  Layla moved toward him. “Do you blame me for Gotti’s death? Huh? You think it’s my fault? Yeah, I shoulda been watching him, but I need a life too. I have a life, and it was supposed to be wit’ my husband. I’m lonely here, Scott. I need you!”

  Scott threw back his drink. “I need to go.”

  “So that’s it? You need to go. Why did you come here in the first place?”

  Scott put the glass on the counter and exited the room. Layla marched behind him, desperate for his attention. She grabbed his right arm, and he spun around with aggravation and jerked himself from her grip.

  “Get off me, woman! I don’t have the time to deal with your pettiness. I got things to do.”

  The look in Scott’s eyes was intense. He looked like he was ready to strike her.

  Tears trickled down Layla’s face. “Who is she?”

  “Don’t question me, Layla. Look at your life. Look at how you live, flamboyant and on top. Why? Because of me. I provided you this type of life. I made you, and I can break you. So stay the fuck out my business!” He turned and marched out the door.

  Crippled with a throbbing sorrow that felt never-ending, Layla dropped to her knees in heartache. She didn’t want to be alone tonight, but there was no one to hold her and comfort her. There was luxury and gold, but no love, no affection, and no sex. This wasn’t exactly the fairytale life she had envisioned for herself.